Page 32 of Beyond Me

“No.Just tell everyone it was canceled.There are plenty of bars and booze cruises to do instead.And Friday’s party is also canceled.”

“Fuck!”Adam’s screech echoed, but I didn’t care.Time to make myself happy.“Why?Is it that girl you’re trying to score with to win our bet?”

I stiffened.I didn’t want Adam or Rich to know anything about her.“No.I haven’t slept with her yet.”

“And you won’t.But if you get her drunk at the party, you may have a better shot at getting in her pants.How about that scenario for you?”

I pictured putting a fist through my friend’s mouth instead.“The bet’s off.I don’t care about meeting Whit Bennigan.”

“Sorry, bro, you can’t call off a bet midweek just because you’re losing.It’s still on, and if you don’t get us proof, say goodbye to your bike.”

I rubbed my forehead.I couldn’t think about this shit now, I’d worry about it later.I needed to get Adam off my ass.“The parties are canceled Adam.Tell Rich I’m not changing my mind, and if the bet’s still on, leave me the hell alone until Friday.”

Silence settled over the line.“Fine.This is fucked up, James.But whatever.”

He hung up.

I hit the button.What a mess.I had a bet about Quinn I couldn’t stop and a bunch of pissed off friends.Still, I felt good about my decision.I’d figure the rest out, even if I had to lie and give up my bike.Nothing really mattered now except spending as much time with the woman half naked in my kitchen.

I threw my phone on the table and went to her.

IWIGGLEDmy toes and relaxed back on the lounge chair.A warm breeze brushed my body, and the sun burned hot on my skin, melting my already limp muscles to wet noodles.The pool glistened in a gorgeous blue that reminded me of James’ eyes, and I smiled, shutting out the world, remembering our last heated lovemaking session that blew my mind.We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.After breakfast, we spent a few hours in bed, then hit my hotel so I could pack another bag to stay over again tonight.I changed into my red bikini and we relaxed by the pool, until he decided to order some food from the local clam bar and bring it back to the house.I sipped my Sex on the Beach he’d concocted, and enjoyed the absolute decadence of the day.Sex, alcohol, fried food, and rest.I’d reached nirvana.

After about fifteen minutes, I noticed my skin was beginning to burn again, so I grabbed my drink and went back inside.Maybe I’d explore.I was sure James wouldn’t mind, and the house was so gorgeous, I was dying to see the rest of the furnishings and setup.I started on the ground level, peeking into an array of guest rooms, and a sunroom with comfy chairs and bookcases stocked with goodies.I browsed through the shelves, making note of the eclectic collection of art, classic literature, and philosophy, then strolled upstairs.Another bathroom with a spa shower, and what looked to be a media room, filled with high-tech gadgets, a big screen TV, and various speakers.Hmm, maybe we could do a movie night and snuggle up.The idea intrigued me.I kept poking around until I reached the last door at the end of the hall.The knob easily turned under my fingers.I stepped in and caught my breath.

It was more than a room.It was a studio filled with blank canvases, paints, brushes, and different-sized tables.The light poured in from the ceiling-to-floor windows, and the floors were some type of wood, covered with drops of paint in various colors.Fascinated, I walked to the row of paintings and studied the bold lines and colors attacking the white background.It was as if something shimmered beneath, dying to get out, and I narrowed my gaze, trying to look deeper.I wasn’t an art major or anything, but had taken a class in college where we went over the basics and famous art.This was unlike any style I’d seen.Who was the artist James collected?

“They’re mine.”

I spun around and almost spilled my drink.He stood behind me, watching me with a curious expression.His words took a while for me to process.“You did these?”

James nodded.They were mostly portraits, sketched out in bold lines with an array of backgrounds in shocking color.The mingling of charcoal with watercolors was new to me.I flipped through a few more, and began to recognize a pattern emerging.As I made my way through his work, I recognized the development from earlier years to later.There was a growing confidence and better technique.The last one took my breath away.

An old man sat by the dock, his withered hand holding a tattered newspaper, looking out over the water as if a memory had broken his concentration.His face held the lines of one who had loved hard and lost much.The gorgeous symmetry of old and young jumped out at me.Usually, portraits bored me—a line of people I’d never met and didn’t know—but James captured an element that made me want to know the subjects.As if I had already met them.

“These are amazing,” I said, shaking my head.“They remind me of something that should be in a gallery, not locked up.Have you ever tried to sell any?”

He walked over and stood beside me.“No.Don’t think I’m good enough.I never trained.”

“Crap, James, can you imagine what you could do with some formal schooling?”My eyes widened when I spotted another small stack of charcoal drawings in a variety of poses.“These too?”I asked.

“Yeah.That’s how I started.I was always sketching, doodling.I used to make comics for my friends in school.I spent a lot of time alone in my room, drawing to keep from getting bored.”

These sketches were simpler, as if he was building the basics of delving behind the surface of people.He had taken something definable in each of them, whether it was a soft look in their eyes, the clenching of fingers, the tilt of the chin.Each one spoke to me on a different level.I put my drink down on the floor and immersed myself for a while.

When I was finally done, I looked up.“You said you weren’t an artist,” I said quietly.

He jerked back.“I’m not.I like to draw and paint.I never sold anything.I never trained.”

“Why not?”

He let out a breath.“Because it’s a hobby.Because it’s ridiculous to think you can make a career out of something like this.Everyone has a crafty sort of thing they do in their spare time.Just because I’m rich, I’m not about to force someone to show my stuff.”

Bingo.The truth slammed through me.He was born to do this, but had gotten caught up in too many voices telling him he couldn’t.Not that I blamed him.After a while, when everyone tells you you’ll fail, you begin to believe it.Anger coursed through me at the total waste of his talent and his belief in everyone but himself.“James, you’re good.Really good.This is what you’re meant to do.No wonder you were strangled at your dad’s bank and Ivy League schools.You need to follow this.”

“Whatever.Let’s go eat.”

He turned, but I jumped in front of him.His pretended ignorance was a big fat lie, and I couldn’t take it.Not from him.“Don’t pull that bullshit with me,” I said.“Why can’t you admit this is what you want?You have the money to go to art school and study.You have no excuses.”

---